Witch Clan: Warriors!, John Stormm [books to read in your 20s female TXT] 📗

there than any other human alive. Secondly, you have also traveled to other hostile planes before and returned whole and healthy. I can‘t think of a human in your present lifetime who can lay claim to such experience. Thirdly, as visiting royalty with the aide of this soft spoken, and diminutive Mohawk warrior and Johnny‘s Sidhe powers added to your own, you have surprises the best of these wizards could not begin to guess at. If you were us and the first to be destroyed by this tyrant, would you settle for any lesser chances?”

“No, I would not by any means,” she replied. “You will have your help, but we may exact a price for it. Will you agree to this?”

“I have watched you grow from a child, Emma Silver Lock,” the Eldritch replied, staring evenly. “I have never seen you become mercenary in any of your dealings with anyone in need. Every member of your tiny family is more precious to you than gems. I believe that any price you would exact from us who are distant family, would not be more than you would require to minister to the health and well being of your own. I will agree to any price you claim within our power to deliver to you. I say on the bond of my own words.” The ancient Sidhe woman extended both hands to her, palms downward, eyes never wavering from her eyes.

“Then you have my word as a witch of the blood,” Emma spoke returning the Sidhe gaze and putting her hands palm upwards, under the Eldritch’s palms. “We will agree to aid you in this plan and you shall supply us according to our needs, as my word so mote it be.” The flash of brilliant, multicolored light and the reverberating boom of thunder filled the room as their hands touched.

Emma awoke with a start. It was a Saturday morning in December and unthinkable to be having a thunderstorm at this time of year. The rain was coming down in torrents outside and Willard was sitting on the bedside sipping a mug of coffee and staring out the window.

“I’m surprised you slept through as much as you have,” Willard said. “This has been going on for some time now. As early in the year as we got snow, you wouldn’t think we’d wake up to nearly fifty five degrees and thunder on a December morning. What do you think is happening to our seasons?”

“I would imagine that Mother Nature is becoming a bit irate with the ignorance of enlightened modern humanity,” she replied. “How about we get breakfast?”

“Coffee’s on and Johnny hasn’t gotten up yet,” Willard said.

At this, Johnny stood in the doorway rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Are we really gonna be spies, Grandma?” he asked sleepily as Willard choked on his coffee.
Them Goose Stepping Nazis!

John Little Fox woke up gradually to the sound of rolling thunder, the occasional flash of lightning reflecting off the walls in his bedroom and the sound of a driving rain pattering on his windowsill.

"Whatever happened to dreaming of a white Christmas?" he asked no one in particular as he rolled out of bed.

It was Saturday and no overtime this week. He double checked the calendar hanging in his studio kitchen to make sure it was both a non-work day and still December. With all the strange dreams he might well have accidentally hibernated for the winter for all he knew. Going through his usual morning grooming rituals he abstained from putting on the coffee pot. It struck him as more appropriate, if not urgent to have his morning coffee with Willard and Emma across the street. He was no stranger to medicine dreaming but lately these have been taking on a whole new brand of realism. If it wasn't for the tall elves and the strange architecture he might have some trouble discerning where the dream ended and his present reality began.

John pondered his life and dreams as he shaved and got dressed. His old Cherokee mentor, Floyd Crow's Foot would have told him not to bother drawing an imaginary line between the dreams and waking life. He probably would have insisted the he spend a little time in one of his sweat lodges to help see clearer what lies ahead. The idea tugged at him as precisely what he wanted just now. City living had thrown a wrench into that kind of plan at the moment.

In the dream Johnny said that Coyote named him Panther Boy. Old Floyd was a Panther Clan Cherokee and as spooky as they got, only he used to call them 'painters' or 'paints'. In olden times, the landscape here in New York had its share of panthers or cougars. Every once in a while, even today, in the more rural areas of New York State, one would be spotted drifting in an out of sight like a ghost on the landscape. What exactly did that mean for Johnny? That moment, watching the boy get his hunter's vision crouching in that tree reminded him a lot of Floyd one day when they were hunting deer back up on the reservation. Bow steady in his hand and eyes fixed unblinking on that buck, he could still hear that sub vocal growl purring out of Floyd's throat. Had the old shaman transformed into a red paint before his eyes and pounced on that buck, he would have been the least surprised of anyone. Old Floyd had his dark side, but no one living could tell a story and make him live the tale as Floyd could. He'd have to settle on Emma's wisdom for all of this. The experience of his manifold meals across the street told him now would be a good time to show up for breakfast. He pulled on his winter parka with his hood up and dashed across the street in the downpour to knock on the door. He barely had raised his hand to knock when Willard opened the door and invited him in.

"For a minute, I thought you'd be late for breakfast," Willard said. "C'mon and get that gear off. Emma's got your place all set at the table. If what I've heard so far is any indicator at all, this morning's conversation is going to be a real eye popper."

"You haven't been seeing any really tall elves have you?" he asked his old friend.

"I've always thought my grandson was the world's tallest elf," Willard replied with a friendly chuckle. "But no, I haven't seen what you probably saw last night. Emma's going to show me the whole thing later in her gazing bowl. Let's get in there before our coffees cool."

Sure enough, a good spread of home fries, sausages and toast were laid out on the table. Emma and Johnny were having an animated conversation about the Sidhe. The boy's excitement level grew noticeably when John walked into the kitchen with Willard.

"You know, don't you?" Johnny accused him cheerfully.

"You'll have to excuse my grandson's exuberance," Emma said. "His Sidhe roots have been his point of alienation with the rest of the world and now he has it as common ground with the rest of us. It's one thing to try and describe it to us, and quite another to share the experience outright."

"So that wasn't just a dream last night?" he asked the obvious.

"Yes and no, I afraid," Emma replied. "It was a dream in that your body was asleep in your bed all night. It was not just a dream in that you experienced a reality that we all shared in the dreaming. For instance, you had mentioned how that Shabriri looked familiar to you. You had met him before in a dream at a Blessing Moon ritual at Stone Henge. This is how I knew you were coming and that you would be my grandson's mentor."

"How about the upcoming Solstice thing," he asked. "Will that be a dream too?"

"No," she said. "That will be an actual physical crossover into another world."

"At least I'll know you're going this time," Willard said, looking a little worried.

"Yes, you will dear," she consoled him. "We will probably be gone only a couple days by your count, but we should return in better shape than we came back in the last time and our own world a bit safer and saner for the doing. I'll show you everything later so that you will know exactly what we know with no unpleasant surprises."

"I'll bet you could have taught old Floyd a thing or two," John commented.


"Floyd?" she asked.


"My old mentor," he replied. "I may have mentioned him before, but much of what he taught as a red man has made most of the shocks I've had with this family of yours a bit easier to digest."

"I would have loved to have met him," Emma said. "He sounds like an able man."

"But could he build a house?" Willard said with a note of mock jealousy.

"He built a fair to middlin' sweat lodge," he replied, "but I'm sure he could have taken some first rate lessons from a master craftsman like yourself. If Floyd had built my apartment instead of you, I'm sure I wouldn't have wanted to live there." They all laughed.

"I'm afraid I may have spoken too abruptly at the time," Emma said